Poem by Charles Kingsley

A March

Dreary East winds howling o'er us;
Clay-lands knee-deep spread before us;
Mire and ice and snow and sleet;
Aching backs and frozen feet;
Knees which reel as marches quicken,
Ranks which thin as corpses thicken;
While with carrion birds we eat,
Calling puddle-water sweet,
As we pledge the health of our general, who fares as rough as we:
What can daunt us, what can turn us, led to death by such as he?

1. Oh! That We Two Were Maying
2. 21st September 1870
3. Down to the Mothers
4. The Weird Lady
5. The Last Buccaneer

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